Make Me Rainbows
by Ecidius
Summary: Cold War AU. Arthur is a lawyer defending a Russian spy whereas Alfred is a spy from the CIA trying to get close to Arthur.
1. Intrologue

Pairing: Alfred F Jones/Arthur Kirkland (USUK)

Summary: Cold War AU. Arthur Kirkland and Alfred F Jones were the closest of friends, despite the age gap. However, Jones vanishes out of the blue one day and left Arthur hanging, which he eventually graduated and came out as a lawyer. Now, Alfred returns as a spy to try coaxing Arthur into spilling relevant information because Arthur has reluctantly taken up a case of defending a Russian spy.

* * *

 _Winter, 1962_

 _New York, the Unites States of America_

He was a 'traitor', partly because he wasn't 'American', mostly because he was defending an 'enemy'.

" _Arthur, I'm back in New York. I was wondering whether we could maybe grab a cup of coffee or go to a film or something._ "The ever so familiar voice across the line never made Arthur grip on to the telephone more furiously, hands slipping due to the sweat accumulating on his palms like grease.

"Alfred? Is that... Is that really you?" Arthur inquired, even if he knew the answer, he wanted to hear that voice confirm it. The sweet voice of his...childhood companion.

" _Of course it's me, Artie! What, I go on holiday for some time and you forget how I sound? How cruel!_ " It was him, it really was. The heavily exaggerated American accent, the overly eager tone in his voice... It was the only friend he had, before he suddenly vanished for years.

"When did you come back? Where did you go?" Arthur sounded too desperate, too out of character for his usual passive self. But did he care? Obviously not.

" _Oh geez, why can't I have a decent conversation with you without you nagging my ear off? Seriously!_ " Though his voice was slightly muffled by the line, Arthur could still hear the amount of expression he has poured into his words. As always, the jumps in his tone showed all the intense, passionate feelings within. Those pure emotions. " _Anyway, if you're wondering... I was actually in France studying Fine Arts for two years, and I was travelling mostly around Italy and Spain, I even went up to Switzerland! Can you believe that?_ "

"I can't believe you; still a child after all these years! But, why didn't you tell me before you..." Could Arthur bring himself to say it? To say how much he had wounded him after he mysteriously faded away? His grip was intense, voice shaking ever so slightly, "...before you disappeared?"

" _Look, first of all, I did tell your brother when I decided to go to France to study. Second of all, this is when I'm going to make it up to you, okay? So which one is it? Films or coffee? I was planning to take you out for a few drinks, but I don't think that'll be a good idea knowing how you can get when you take more than three shots._ "

Arthur chuckled lowly to himself, almost sounding like he was puffing out some air. "I'd love to go to the pictures, but I don't think it could fit in my schedule. You haven't been in New York lately, have you? You won't believe how all these people can get; my firm will explode any minute! And I don't think Lili will like it if I go drinking again."

There was a brief pause before the man across the line decided to speak again, " _Who's Lili?_ "

Arthur only realised that he didn't know about his fiancée, Lili - a lovely lady he was going to marry within a few months. "Lili's my fiancée. Her brother is an attorney general. I met her through her brother."

" _Oh darn, I didn't think an old geezer like you would steal the ladies before me. Lili, huh? Is she cute?_ "

Was Alfred seriously trying to court his wife-to-be right in front of him? Was he trying to be funny with his sick sense of humour? "Is this a joke? Are you trying to steal my wife right in my face?"

" _Technically, she's not your wife yet. And I'm just pulling your leg, why be so fussed up about this?_ " Alfred couldn't be serious now, could he? After all, he was known by the girls back in high school as 'The Smooth Operator'...

"You know what, drop it. You haven't been in New York lately, right? I know this new place with great pastry... And maybe coffee too. Are you in?"

"Hmm... I don't know... For someone who bakes toxic scones, inviting me for some pastries is like a bomber asking someone to check out the bombs of other people."Alfred used a few good seconds to laugh over his silly remark before continuing, "I'm just kidding. Can you pick me up? How about tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow sounds swell. I'll pick you up at... Where are you staying again?"

"Oh! I'm staying at my old place. Just for the time being, though. Can you come pick me up there tomorrow at... Say, when's your lunch break?"

"I'll come pick you upat noon, is that okay?" For once, Arthur was asking for his permission, which signalled his desperation to meet Alfred again.

"Sounds great! I'll see you tomorrow!"With that, Alfred hung up, never giving Arthur a chance to bid his goodbye. He did the same too five years ago, but worse because he didn't even say goodbye... Or at least his brother didn't inform him of this sudden decision to study Fine Arts in France.

This little telephone conversation elated all of them; Arthur, Alfred and Alfred's boss. In fact, Alfred wasn't even in France or Italy or Spain or Switzerland. He was always in America. He was always working for the CIA. Ever since that night he shared with _him,_ Alfred never had the chance to live a normal life. Not even a chance to even share a few biscuits with his good ol' pal, Artie.

He wasn't some carefree artist, but a spy risking his life for his country.

He had committed crimes he had to repay to the country. Since he had great potential, the CIA let him work for them. On one condition that he devoted his life for them, and die one day when he wasn't useful any more.

Why would he tell all these lies to Arthur? Why did he even need to interact with Arthur if he didn't want to let him know of his past five years?

It was simple, it was part of devotion, it was part of the plan.

Recently, a Russian spy was caught and Arthur was tasked to defend him, much to his reluctance. He soon became the second most hated man in the United States of America, a cozy spot right next to the most hated man, Ivan Braginski, also known as the 'spy'.

These people had every right to hate Braginski, in Arthur's opinion. He had information about nuclear bombs and was lurking around exchanging information with Russian sources. It was, really a bad time to be a Russian acting suspicious in the States because it was the most heated period of the Cold War.

And now, Alfred F Jones was ordered to get close to Arthur to retrieve any information Braginski might have accidentally spilled. He had to get close to Arthur as a freelance artist and more importantly...

...The man he trusted.

* * *

The black Mercedes rolled in as Alfred jumped of the steps childishly and yanked the car door open with too much force, earning a glare from Arthur. With ease, Alfred slumped himself down onto the leather seat, stretching his limbs and feeling the cushion seep down due to his...weight.

"You idiot, you could've just ripped my car door! Do you know how many cases I have taken just to get this?" Arthur irked, not thinking that his first face-to-face encounter with Alfred after five long harsh years would be so...lively and heated.

"Ah, but as you can see... I didn't!" He smirked, gesturing the nicely sealed car door theatrically. Ah, he never really changed much, did he?

"That's because it's a quality car. Try that with some cheap car and I swear, even the best engineer in the world couldn't fix that!"

"Aw, you're such a killjoy. First I get nagged at on the phone, then I get another lecture? I get it, _Mom_." He teased with the new given nickname, a sly grin etched across his face. Arthur really did miss this mischievous companion, too bad he left without notice.

Which reminded him, he was outraged with this guy, why was he going so easy on him? "You know, everything's still not A-okay with me. You're paying for the meal and you know it."

"Oh, it's always great to repay your parents," he winked, crossing his legs as Arthur drove onto the busy streets with whining honks and angry drivers. Random insults were thrown across random pedestrians, vendors trying to advertise their products, men in trench coats holding their papers and getting to work. Really, a normal afternoon in the city.

When was the last time Alfred actually sat in a Mercedes and roamed around the city so relaxingly, without any fear of spies trying to assassinate him while he was sleeping? Innocently feeling the non-existent gusting wind against his skin, like how he used to with Arthur on the football field behind the hospital where Arthur's mother was before she passed away when he was 16. The fluttering feeling he had when Arthur lied his head down on his shoulder, fighting back his tears when he found out about his mother's death... It felt so wrong for Alfred to enjoy the feeling of Arthur's pale blond hair grazing his shoulder through his shirt, yet it felt like his head resting there was the most righteous thing to happen to him ever. Ever. Who in the right mind would enjoy his best friend resisting the urge of crying on his shoulder when his best friend's mother just died?

The crimson sunset looming over them, protecting them, shielding them... From his feelings... His feelings must be kept and locked away forever.

Of course, that was a long time ago, before all these chaos started. Of course, that was a long time ago, when he started developing feelings for someone so a daredevil he was, but wasn't that what he was best at? Being the one person no one else dared to be - a criminal on the stage, but a hero behind the curtains.

"So, Artie, what have you been up to, these past few years?" Alfred casually asked, eyes locked on the passing buildings and people outside.

"It's 'Arthur'. Anyway, it has been the same, mostly. A few people get mad at other people, they come to me, and I settle their tension or bring it to court," he explained in a more humorous manner, occasionally trying to look out for reckless motorists.

"Sounds tough. Are all your cases minor? Or have you taken up an major ones?" Alfred quizzed, eyes finally landing on that porcelain face, refined jawline, shaggy hair, emerald orbs... That maybe was a sort for another day. He was trying to pry out any answers partly for his boss, and mostly because he wanted to know everything that happened in Arthur's life while he was absent.

"Hey, there isn't such thing as 'minor case'. Every case matters!" He protested, then realising his sudden outburst, he decided to refrain himself with a little humour. "Well, in all honesty, most of my cases are helping those petty people get their refunds. Nothing to taxing, really."

Of course Arthur didn't want to ring up Braginski's case, he didn't want to let Alfred know how hated he was in the country. Sadly, this was the reason why Alfred returned. "You shouldn't take up anything to hard, old man. You might break a hip, y'know."

"Hey! I'm capable of defending important people too."

Was he finally landing his finger on the subject? Did he succeed? Alfred decided to press on it, "Oh yeah? What important person have you ever defended?"

"Well, I..." Arthur widened his eyes in what he was about to spill, then decided to bring up another name from a few years ago. "I defended this Japanese chap from the Japanese embassy! His name was.. Hong, was it? I think it was Honda... Yes, I think it was Honda."

Alfred clenched his jaw slightly in disappointment, his lips pressed into a firm line as he spoke again, "That's it? Some guy from the Japanese embassy? You studied in Harvard just for this?"

"Hey, it wasn't easy, okay? Honda was obviously innocent and I helped him straighten his name." Arthur's gaze were somewhat strengthen, making him feel like his eyes were about to pop out and shoot out and crash into someone else's car.

"How am I so sure you didn't just make this name up?" He teased, "Admit it, you don't have the guts to defend the hot shots."

Arthur was about to retaliate with Braginski, but the breath of his hitched at his throat, disabling his ability of speaking. He screwed his mouth shut and gripped on the steering wheels, locking his eyes on the road.

Alfred awaited Braginski's name, but it never came. Hence, he decided to let it go. For the sake of his working strategy his boss taught him earlier, and for the sake of the remains of their friendship.

After the sounds of a few humming cars passing, Arthur loosened the tension by asking about Alfred, "So, what have you been doing these past few years?"

"After getting my degree, I became a backpacker and painted wherever I liked. Mostly around the Mediterranean Seas."

"I never knew you ever into arts. I thought you wanted to become a doctor," he stated, glancing to meet Alfred's gaze occasionally. Arthur even remembered when Alfred wanted to be the heroes of the ones victimized by fatal diseases... Just like Arthur's mother...

"I... I never knew I was into arts either. But then... But then one day I woke up and I was interested in art and decided to go get a degree." Lies. So many lies. He was never interested in arts on tiny bit. Sure, he loved looking at Edward Hopper's works and some picture of a rose or a carnation, but he never really was one to sit down and stare at something and reflect on the philosophies and the meaning of life.

Arthur flicked his eyes to give Alfred a sideways glance of dismay, before turning his eyes back on the streets. "Then, where did you get your degree?" Arthur definitely knew something was fishy, and being the uptight person he was, he would never let go of a liar so easily.

Was Alfred really such a bad liar? Or was it because Arthur was a lawyer that set the pressure? He slowly moved his eyes to window before continuing, "I got it in a little French college. Nothing too fancy."

Arthur decided to let go of this, but seeing Alfred shifting uncomfortably in his seat was slightly different from his normal behaviour. Maybe he wasn't proud of his run-down budget university? After all, he wasn't from a very well off background. Well, at least the rest of his family was in a stable financial situation. "Then... Did you visit Canada, perhaps?"

Alfred's smile faltered, as he uses a hand to cover it, while at the same time using the elbow to support his chin. He definitely didn't want Arthur to see him break down like this. "Canada... I don't really think they'll have room for me." Arthur really did screw up. To bring up the one country Alfred didn't like talking about. To bring up the country that caused all the pain and distraught in Alfred's life. To bring up the reason he never grew up with a 'happy family'.

Hearing the despair in Alfred's voice, Arthur didn't want to press on any more. As a child, his parents always worked in Ontario, Canada and put him here to be under the care of his nanny. After a few years, they gave birth to a child and since then, they have practically lost contact and never saw each other again. It was even funny how Alfred has never even seen his younger brother.

Alfred always felt like he was the odd family member, like the 'extra' one. He even changed his surname because he felt that his nanny, Amelia Jones, cared for him more than the Williams household - his biological family.

* * *

 _To be continued..._

* * *

 _A/N: I deeply apologise if this might be too short for your liking, I will try to elongate this in this in the future if needed. This idea is heavily influenced by the film 'Bridges of Spies'. Even so, I will twist the ending a little bit. Any suggestions of an interesting ending are gladly accepted. Thank you._


	2. Chapter 1

_Note: The previous chapter is supposed to be an intro or a little entrée before any readers dive in to the main plot. As you can see, this has been changed from 'The Masquerade is Over' to 'Make Me Rainbows' because the song 'The Masquerade is Over' wasn't appropriate for the ending I have in mind. Sorry for the inconvenience._

* * *

The subject of Canada was quickly released, none of them feeling the need to resume chatting about it.

The car soon arrived at the bakery - a rather petite yet heart-warming little place - with floral decorations tattooed across the window pane, unique French desserts labelled across the dashboard, the sweet scent of sweets and cakes booming through the front door...

Alfred was dumbstruck by the amount of colour and detail this little shop had, there were even carvings on the ceiling! Alfred took small steps in the bakery as his eyes roamed for every single speck of detail he could inspect, mouth hung agape as a little whimper of awe choke out his throat. Soft jazz playing in the background, quiet chattering, and the laughter only the rich and the sophisticated can giggle.

" _Bonjour_! I'm Francis, how can I help you?" A heavily accented masculine voice called out behind him. Alfred whipped his head around to meet a man with wavy hair and a tiny stubble waving at him from behind the counter.

He was at a loss of words. He didn't know what to say, what not to say. Ever since he started working for the CIA, he never really had a decent meal before. All of them were brief, empty and off he was hiding again. All he had for the past five years were hamburgers and cold sandwiches, on occasions maybe a slice of pizza from any family parlour secluded from his targets.

"Oh, Mr Kirkland! Are you perhaps coming with...this Monsieur over here?" Francis spoke again, this time directed at Arthur who was standing behind Arthur.

"Yes, this is Alfred. He's my friend."

"Really? Lovely to meet you, Alfred. Can I get you two anything?"

"I'd take a few macaroons; two in vanilla and two in 'Midnight Chocolate'. What would you like, Alfred?" This time when Arthur asked, he was already in front of the counter, turning back to check on the paralysed Alfred.

"W-What? Me? Uh... I uh... What would you recommend?" What a great way to sound groomed when he clearly had no idea what all of these desserts were.

"Hmm... For you? Maybe an éclair would be nice?" Francis suggested, as Alfred took a few steps forward to meet him.

"Y-Yes. An éclair sounds nice." Alfred wasn't used to this unfamiliar French term run across his tongue, as he was trying as hard as possible not to embarrass himself, or Arthur.

"All right, then. Four macaroons for Mr Kirkland and a plate of éclairs for you, Alfred." He repeated the order while scribbling it on a tiny piece of paper before continuing, "Please, have a seat. I'll serve you in a quick bit."

After they were dismissed, the two of them found a seat next to the window pane, giving them a perfect view of the busy street outside.

"Why did you insist on Francis calling you 'Mr Kirkland'?" Alfred began, casually enjoying the view outside.

"Well, it's certainly a more polite way to be greeted by a server, right? I mean, what do you expect him to call me? 'Artie'?" He asked, joining Alfred in enjoying the view, while letting his figure slide down a tad bit for a more comfortable posture as he crossed his legs in a 'two timezone' manner.

"Yeah. 'Artie' sounds nice, don't you think?" He asked, as a few giggling women passed by in colourful coats, shimmering purses in hand.

"Alfred, you're the only one who calls me that." What a great way to let him know that he was the only one who cared enough to come up with a pet name.

"I don't mind if you call me 'Al', or 'Fred'. Heck, you can even call me 'Freddy'. I won't mind that."

"You know, the name 'Freddy' is short for the name 'Frederick'."

"That was my old middle name, so..." Oh no, oh no. They were certainly not going to talk about Alfred's family background or his past. The three words 'Alfred Frederick Williams' are the three words that could set his brain on fire, burn his sanity to ashes and turn him into a completely different angsty person.

Arthur decided to change the subject, again. "So, how's Miss Jones?"

"Oh, Amelia? She's fine, but I think she's seeing someone right now. She's always having mysterious calls from someone called Allen. I wonder what's up with them." The thought of his nanny seemed to lighten his mood a little, even if it's only a little, it's better to think about his life when he was still part of the William household.

"Allen, is it? Is there a full name? And hold on, how old is your nanny again?"

"I don't have a full name yet. All I know is that she has been receiving some strange phone calls and getting all excited about it." He smiled, happy to know that his nanny was finally finding her other half. "And oh, she's only 41 this year. Still pretty young for a nanny, huh?"

"Aren't you worried that this Allen guy might be some young scandal that scams older women?" Did Arthur seriously had to ruin every single happy moment? At a time like this, he still had to be a tad bit more realistic than normal people?

"I know Amelia. She's strong; she knows what she's doing. I'm sure of one thing of her and that's it." With that said, a light drizzle started sprinkling down like snowflakes, spraying itself against the window pane, making it look like the window pane had goosebumps.

"Yeah, I'm pretty sure Miss Jones is a strong lady, she knows what she's doing." Arthur saved the day again, even though he was the one who almost ruined it. Again.

"So... How's your brother?" Was Alfred deliberately trying to ruin Arthur's day? Yet again, it was Arthur that brought up family members in the first place.

"He's... I think he's working in Scotland now." His voice was wry, filled with uncertainty. He never really liked his brother for many reasons, in all honesty.

"You think?" Alfred repeated Arthur's words, arching an eyebrow while locking gazes with him.

"I don't know, okay? We never really talked and he moved out when he was eighteen!"

Alfred decided that he liked seeing Arthur in such a flustered stated. After all, it was because he enjoyed seeing Arthur that it got him into so much hot water. It was the one night he called him over, and the next morning his was in the interrogation room of the CIA. It really sucked to be living in such a narrow minded generation, as Alfred would like to say, he absolutely wished to be born with Arthur 50 years later. Perhaps his feelings will be granted them? Perhaps his feelings will finally be accepted by society then?

"Okay, okay. Don't need to get fussed up about this." Alfred chuckled before looking out the window pane again. "How about old man Kirkland?"

"My father?" He asked and Alfred nodded. "Dead."

Arthur might have said it a little too quickly, not even showing a hint of guilt or remorse for hating his father while he was alive. Arthur never wanted to become a lawyer; he wanted to be an English teacher. He wanted to show children the wonders of this language, not argue about who should pay the bill. He would rather go jobless than follow the footsteps of his own father, according to Arthur. However, his father enrolled him in Harvard to study law no matter what, easily ignoring his wishes, and let Arthur take on his law firm.

"How did he..." Alfred trailed off, unsure how to bring up the word 'dead' without sounding too concerned, and without sounding to heartless.

"Die? Heart attack." If anyone didn't know Arthur, they would think that he was a cold blooded beast who didn't even care for his own father. But Alfred knew otherwise. He knew that Arthur had a very confidential reason to despise his father. Anyone would, in Arthur's shoes.

* * *

 _It was early June, 1949. A warm transition from Spring to Summer. Being the lonely child Alfred was, he went banging on the Kirkland household door again. The door was gradually pulled open, revealing a blonde woman with a kind smile - Arthur's mother. She began, "Ah, Alfred! You came to visit Arthur again. How lovely! Come in, come in."_

 _"Thank you Mrs Kirkland," Alfred replied politely. Even though Amelia taught him how to mind his p's and q's, but Arthur's mother boosted it up a level. Table manners, the Queen's language, walking posture, how to please a lady... Alfred was actually acting like that, like a gentleman. That was, before she passed away. Then, he never wanted to used the Queen's language or walk properly any more._

 _As he walked in, he heard a scream, a painful tortured scream. Which hurt more because it resembled Arthur's voice. How could such a melodic, angelic voice ever sound so hurt, so terrorised?_

 _"Um... Mrs Kirkland... Is everything okay?" He asked, eyes trailing the source of the shrieks._

 _Mrs Kirkland sensed the fright in Alfred's eyes, patting his head and soothingly replied, "Yes, love. Now run along to his room, will you?"_

 _There was a glint of hesitation in his eyes, before he warily nodded and trembled his way upstairs. Those screams; who was causing them? Mr Kirkland? His brother? Who could possible do that to a child? For all Alfred knew, hurting someone - no matter young or old - was wrong. And it will always be wrong in his dictionary._

 _He settled himself on Arthur's bed, swaying his legs in utter boredom, mind lingering on the situation earlier. Was Mrs Kirkland really okay will closing a blind eye? Or was she beaten too?_

 _A few moments passed, and a desperate Arthur burst through the door, leaping onto the bed and hugging Alfred. Between sobs, he muttered, "Thank you for coming... If you didn't come, Mum wouldn't be able to stop Father, and..." Arthur then realised he was making a huge mess, he straightened himself, composed himself and let out a breath to stop anymore tears. "I'm... I'm... I'm sorry I've dampened your shirt, I can help you clean it afterwards."_

 _Alfred only realised that his sleeve was basically soaked, but smiled it through. He didn't care, it would just dry up in five minutes under this weather. "It's okay, pal! I don't mind! More importantly, are you okay?"_

 _He was stunned. Unsure of how to reply, he shakily stuttered, "I... I... My father... He..."_

 _"Oh come on, spit it out. I'm your friend, right?" Alfred grinned, wiping Arthur's tears with both his tiny hands._

 _"W-Well... Don't tell anyone I told you this, okay? Well you see... Recently my father has been drinking a lot... And well, he comes home late at night and starts beating me, and whenever Mum tries to stop him, he beats her too. I don't know why this is happening. Mum says he just needs to pent his anger a little, and if we love him wed understand." He paused, then continue with a harsher tone. "But I don't. I don't love that fool. All he wants is reputation. If anyone on the streets find out that he beats us, we're all done for. That's why... He agreed to stop for a while when you came."_

 _"Then... I'll just have to come more often!" He smiled, finally wiping off all the tears._ _"Mm-hmm! Say, what do you want to be when you grow up?" He asked, finally swaying his legs care-freely like Alfred._

 _"Me? I'm gonna be the first man to step on the moon! I'm gonna wear fancy suits and a ridiculous hat and put the Star Spangled Banner up there so the whole world could see it!" He smiled excitingly, before turning over to face Arthur. "What about you?"_

 _"Me? I want to be a teacher! I want to teach my students how to protect themselves from evil people!" He let out a rare smile of enthusiasm, rocking his legs more vigorously._

 _"You don't want to be a lawyer?" Alfred asked, purely out of curiosity. Maybe it was because Alfred was slightly younger that he allowed him to say such things._

 _"I never want to be a lawyer; unlike my father. All he does is create fake evidence and make up fake facts. I never want to be like that. I never want to be 'Mr Kirkland', I want to 'Mr Arthur'."_

 _And they spent the whole afternoon like that, talking about ambitions, fantasising about their future. One of the most memorable lazy afternoons with a scorching hot sun outside, with them not caring about anything at all. Not Arthur's father, not the Williams household; just the two of them talking about what they wanted to be and who they wanted to be._

* * *

Alfred was snapped out of his reverie with the cheery call of Francis. "Four macaroons and a plate of éclairs, coming right up!"

Their dishes were delicately placed in front of them, with Alfred gaping in awe. "Anything else I could get you?" Francis asked, a notepad in hand with a plastic ball pen in the another.

"I'd like a pot of Earl Grey, please. What about you, Alfred?" With the two sets of eyes landing oh Alfred, all he could do was let out a tiny whimper.

"Um... I'd like some coffee, please." Very pathetic for Alfred. Very so very pathetic. How was he a lady-killing CIA agent? He was the 'Smooth Operator', he could get himself out of any trouble, he could seduce sources in giving him information! Yet, why was he so flustered in front of Arthur? For a more convincing cover, perhaps?

"Yes, Alfred. But what kind?" Francis inquired, doubting that Alfred only knew Nescafé 3-in-1.

"Americana." He said, almost too quickly. This was actually the order that CIA agents would order to inform the other spies working with them that they were on the case. If Alfred heard his co-worker from another table call for this particular coffee, then he would take it as a signal that everything was running smoothly. He almost forgot that he was on a mission, not some innocent cup of coffee with his friend.

Francis hesitated, before resuming, "It's a pity, I would've ordered a Café au Lait. It's the house speciality."

Did Alfred hear that right? Did Alfred just hear the confirmation code from the French intelligence? Was Francis part of the French intelligence? Was he on the tail of the Braginski case too? He then tested Francis if he knew the full code. "Francis, are there a lot of ants here? Since it's filled with desserts?"

His eyes sparkled, as if knowing valuable information. "I try to keep this place as clean as possible. But sometimes, _even in the cleanest place of the world, a lone ant might just find a way in to steal my sweets._ "

" _And us humans must stop the ant before it passes the sweets to its friends back at home._ " Mission confirmed. Alfred was informed that a man by the name of Agent Bonnefoy would be on his tail to supervise him. He was also told to order a cup of Espresso when he was close to blowing his cover.

"Fair point. Ah, I have to go check on my cream puffs!" He said, scurrying off to the long hallway behind the staff door, leaving the two alone again.

"So, Alfred. Where have you been finding your income? Are you financially stable?" He questioned, leaning forward to have a good look at those ocean blue orbs. Partly to see whether was lying, partly to apply some pressure, and partly to admire those eyes as blue as the skies... What was he thinking? He was a man, Alfred was a man; things between men couldn't happen! Though Arthur would actually try to woo Alfred if he was a girl.

"My income... I... Actually..." With a look of certainly splashed across his face, he then decided to make something up, trying as hard as possible not to lose eye contact. "Well, my pops finally started to feel bad for abandoning me with Amelia, so he started sending me some money every month. And I also sold a few artworks on the way."

"Hmm... Is that so? The Williams, you say?" He leaned forward again, forearms supporting his body weight, sending a harsher glare, strengthening the stare.

"Y-Yes, the Williams." He stammered, seeing Francis around the corner and sent his mayday signal. "Francis! Can I change my order? Could you change it to Espresso?"

"Espresso? I'm sorry, we're all out of Espresso beans." He apologetically stated as he started sauntering over from the counter. "In fact, we're closing soon. My place is book for a family gathering at 5 o'clock so I have to start my preparations in about... Say, around 10 minutes?"

"10 minutes? Aww, it's a shame. I really wanted some coffee today. Could you help me pack my _éclairs_?" He begged, still unable to pronounce the foreign dessert smoothly.

"Sure thing! I'll be back in a jiffy." He smiled, swiftly transferring the plate onto his palm to dashed towards the counter.

"It's a shame, isn't it? I wanted to order more desserts for you but it just had to be booked." Arthur commented, leaning back against the board of his chair, a tingly suspicion fluttering within. He definitely knew something was up. He knew that Alfred would rather sleep on the streets than to accept money from the Williams.

"Why not we come back tomorrow? If you're free?" He asked, almost like asking a girl out on a date. Except that this was a man, and he was on a mission, and he might die any moment.

"Sure. Same time at your place?" His British accent strong as ever, even if he was practically raised in the States his whole life. Yet, it would never fail to make Alfred feel so enchanted by it, wanting to hear more.

"A takeaway plate of éclairs, for Alfred." Francis interrupted with a paper bag in hand, and handed it over to Alfred with a quick wink. What did that mean, he wondered.

As they made their way back to the car, he noticed a strip of paper hidden underneath the container. A note. What was it about? Was it about the French intelligence? Was it from the CIA criticising his lack of ability of gaining any information? Was it the CIA thinking that he was no longer useful and wanted him at the headquarters - dead?

Arthur noticed the distressed look in Alfred's eyes and said nothing. He wondered whether bringing his biological family up was a bad idea. The car ride was filled with a whining silence, the world outside seemed to be muffled by their stressful thoughts? They felt like they were underwater - unable to speak or breath, unable to voice their thoughts, unable to escape their problems.

As the tyres squealed and the engine quieting down from rumbling to humming, Alfred got off the car without much force and plainly turned back, quickly added, "See you tomorrow," before turning into the town-house and locking himself away.

As he peeped through the curtains and saw Arthur's car roll away, he reached for the paper bag, blood running cold, all energy drained. As his hand reached for the strip of paper, his eyes were screwed shut, expecting the worse. But all it said was, ' _Jones, meet me at Room 483 at the Hilton Hotel room at 2100 hours tonight. I hope you don't ditch us._ '

'Us'? Who was 'us'? Braginski's friends? The KGB? Should he turn up? Should he risk seeing the KGB; or should he risk ditching his superiors? If only he could drown himself in the deep Atlantic ocean and never return; yet if he did so, he wouldn't be able to see Arhut again, to embrace him like he did at the same old football field.

He sighed, partly relieved to acknowledge the fact that the CIA still needed him, partly fearing 9 o'clock. Fearing that once he opened the door, KGB members would leap in front of him with a gun cocked in his face; fearing that once he opened the door, he'd see Arthur held as hostage. Yes, this job was dangerous, but it was worth living to see Arthur again.

* * *

It was nine, he was in one of his tailored suites, handgun in his pocket, standing outside the hotel room.

The red carpet covering the floor, warm air with the scent of daisies filled the hallway. Paintings of still art and dancing women was aligned across the walls. It was bright, but still felt antiqued and sophisticated.

He gave three knocks on the painted door, before the doorknob spun open to reveal Francis smiling at him.

"You've made it, Agent. Come in, someone important needs to see you." He opened the door wide and stepped to a side, escorting him in.

The carpet inside was a darker shade of crimson, very close to maroon. It was a royal suite, with a large bed by the huge glass window, a large chandelier hovering above them in the centre or the room. As his vision span moved to scan the end of the room, he was a little living area. A nice wooden coffee table, a beautifully designed couch, with the one man he didn't want to see lounging over there.

"Long time no see, my brother."

* * *

 _To be continued..._

* * *

 _A/N: Please do not view Matthew or Ivan as the 'villains'. They aren't. I truly believe that they are kind and intelligent individuals that do not deserve criticism of any sort. Thank you for understanding._


	3. Chapter 2

_Early February, 1963_

 _New York, the United States of America_

* * *

"Mr Braginski, I am your representing lawyer. My name is Arthur Kirkland." He started, sitting down on a cheap plastic chair inside the prison cell.

"Mr Kirkland, it's a pleasure to see you." Ivan greeted, with no hint of fear or worry. He was seated across the wooden table, only a few rays of sunlight managed to crawl in the cell.

"Mr Braginski, please tell me everything you know so I can help you cleanse your name." He spoke dully, as if it was a routine to ask his clients the same questions.

Silence. Ivan didn't speak, only turning his head to face the little barred window at the highest point of the tiny cell. Arthur trailed his eyes to follow Ivan's gaze. All he saw was the few rays of sunlight, but apparently Ivan saw otherwise. "Now I understand why the sunflowers tend to follow the sunlight." He finally spoke, words deeply accented that gave off a exotic feeling.

"I'm sorry, come again?" He asked, knotting his brows together as he saw the engrossed look on Ivan's face. What was so bloody interesting about the sunflowers?

"People are the same. We tend to follow what we think is right; we tend to follow what we think are dreams. But how are we so sure we aren't mistaking the sunlight for moonlight? Just because it shines doesn't mean it's the one we should follow." He stated, finally tilting his face over to meet Arthur's widened emerald orbs.

"I am different, I'm afraid. I follow who I work for, and now I work for you; not the government." He said, aligning his fingers together and gesturing Ivan.

"That is why you're following the moonlight." Ivan smiled, not a cheeky one, but a genuine wise one. This feeling made him remember the one he was waiting for back at home. The one person who always gave him wise advise and the one person that didn't see him as a heartless monster. His love, Wang Yao. "I can see that you're not happy with what you're doing. Is it because you're defending a Russian? Or is it because you never wanted to defend anyone in the first place?"

There was a painful silence, but broken by Arthur. "Mr Braginski, you will have to go to court two months from now. Is there anything I should know to help this case?"

"All we both must know is we both are innocent." He said, not losing the smile. The side of his face was highlighted with a pale yellow, the other side mysteriously shadowed. Yet, Arthur didn't feel any threat from him, he even felt some warmth. Even in the coldest of people, there was a way one could emit their warmth.

"Both of us?" He inquired, slightly leaning forward to have a closer view, as he placed his still aligned fingers on the table.

"You're defending a Russian, I'm pretty sure the intelligences from all over the world would be on your case." He gruffly said it, as if he was ashamed to admit the fact that he endangered someone who was helping him, even though Arthur was reluctant, he was at least trying because of his professionalism.

"Mr Braginski... Do you perhaps, have a family?" His question was plain and simple, but it had huge impacts on a lot of people.

"A family... I have two sisters, one is staying in Ukraine, and the other..." He trailed off, eyes travelling to the ceiling, as if hoping they were seeing the same sky, sort of. "My younger sister had gone missing many years ago. I don't know where she is, I don't know whether she's alive. All I know that she is a lovely girl called Natalia and was suddenly missing when she was six."

"Natalia, you say? I can help you track her with my authorities, if you like. Natalia Braginski?" He asked, leaning close while supporting his jaw with his fists.

"No, we were all born by different fathers... I don't even remember her surname... What a pathetic brother I am." He chuckled bitterly before looking out a tiny window again.

"Then, do you have a girlfriend or a wife, perhaps?"

There was a brief pause, unsure how to place his words. "Not a girlfriend, not wife; but a special someone waiting at home."

Arthur was slightly...amused with his statement. This man was a homosexual? How was he so open minded about it? Homosexuality was still considered a criminal offence in some countries! "Is that special someone in New York?"

Only a vague nod bobbed his head slightly, not even using any force.

"Yes? How long have you been residing in the States?"

"Maybe... My whole life?" He asked himself, pondering, as if reflecting his life in America. The air was stuffy, the room was dark, only illuminated by the same few rays of sunlight.

"Your while life? How? I thought you couldn't leave the Soviet Union without a legitimate reason."

"That's because my father lied to the government. He was a respected general, some even gave him the nickname, 'General Winter'." He theatrically enlarged the words of 'General Winter'. "One day, he told me he couldn't stand the life of living in Russia, so he pretended to tell the government that he was going on a mission in America. And that was how he secretly brought my mother and I over. Sadly, we couldn't find Natalia during the shipping and she..."

"I'm so sorry for Natalia. How about your other sister in Ukraine? Did she come?"

"If she could she wouldn't stay there. Her father didn't allow her to come with us, and Natalia's adopted. So we're all by different fathers."

"Ah, I see." He said, nodding to himself. An awkward silence soon started to suffocate them. Finding no need to continue this session, Arthur quickly dismissed them. "Terrible apologies but I have to run some errands. I will see you soon, Mr Braginski."

"Yes, Mr Kirkland." He answered, before adding, "And please, call me Ivan."

All of a sudden, he remember the silly wish he made when he was 12. That he wanted to be 'Mr Arthur' rather than 'Mr Kirkland', that he didn't want to be a fool to follow the footsteps of his father. The true dreams he wanted to follow, the genuine happiness he had... What happened? Since when did he take on the law firm? Since when did he start dealing with petty clients? Since when did he start defending people who he thought wasn't worth defending? But after hearing Ivan's saying about the sunflowers, after hearing Ivan's past, he felt so enlightened, so awake. What has he been doing these years?

But there was something he was sure of: he wanted to defend Ivan Braginski, because he did nothing wrong. This was perhaps, the true purpose of his job in the first place.

"All right, _Ivan_." He said, running the name of his tongue for a test, before adding, "Then please, call me Arthur."

"Very well." He said. "Arthur."

* * *

Arthur finally got home, stressed and somewhat relieved to know that he was doing the right thing - defending an innocent man. All this while, people on the streets have sent glares and looked at him with the corner of their eyes, all because they thought he was betraying the country. But now, he understood Ivan's saying as well. He was going to follow sunlight, he will follow his will.

"Darling, would you like a cup of tea?" Lili called from behind, resting her palms on Arthur's shoulders and gave him a little massage.

"No, thank you. I just had some trees today, and I think that's enough sugar for a day." He smiled, placing his hand on one of Lili's hands, allowing her to stop. She then followed his wish and say next to him on the couch.

"You had tea? With who?" She inquired; on the surface it looked like a jealous fiancée, in actually fact it was because she had a gun in her purse. Yes, she was a spy too. It really felt pitiful because she gave Arthur genuine happiness, but she was doing this just for the fact that he might spill some information while drunk. She had a secret lover she parted from before coming to Arthur, and she sincerely hoped that Arthur would find his true love. Every time they kissed, every time they hugged, she was felt guilty for spitting false 'I love you's and embracing the one she didn't really love. She had a lover, back in Liechtenstein. She had a lover, who wasn't a man.

"Don't worry, love. Just a childhood friend of mine. We're practically like brothers. His name is Alfred, and I'll introduce you two on our wedding, all right?" He said lovingly, caressing her face while gazing deeply into her eyes. As he gazed, he somehow saw Alfred's eyes flash by. How it was the same shade of blonde, how their eyes resembled... Maybe he really did choose this girl because he reminded him of Alfred - his long lost other half. Well, at least, five years long.

"Alfred... Oh! Yes! Someone named Alfred called while you were gone!" She gasped, gripping her skirt in realisation. "He left a message! If I'm not wrong, he wants you to meet him at the 'old place'? I believe he also mentioned a football field?"

"A football field, you say? I think I know where it is. Did he ask for a time to meet him?"

"He said to go at sunset. Isn't it strange? Do people still use terms like this these days? Why couldn't he just give a specific time?"

"Did he say today? It's almost sunset." He said casually, peering out the window as the skies turned into the shade of sepia.

"Yes, dear. You better hurry!" She urged, as Arthur got up and put on his coat. Really, right after he got back, he had to head out again.

"I might not be back till late, so don't get worried, all right?" He smiled warmly before heading out, leaving Lili alone in the well-lit townhouse. Her eyes snapped from the door to her Swiss army knife she took out from her pocket of her A-line skirt. The little knife her brother gave her before she was sent to the mission.

"Kill him if necessary, Lili. He's dangerous." His voice was strained, tired and exhausted. Honestly, she was expecting a barbarian, but she had actually developed feelings for this gentleman. Well, platonic feelings. They shared the same hobbies, had the same tastes in art; they were really a perfect 'couple'. Unfortunately, she couldn't get over the rough, manly girl back in Liechtenstein. In fact, she was Hungarian.

* * *

 _"Elizabeta, I must go. I have joined the Swiss intelligence." She muttered, eyes not daring enough to meet Elizabeta's eyes._

 _"What? You're not even Swiss." She commented, forcefully wincing back her tears, biting her gums to prevent her from screaming in frustration._

 _"I'm half Swiss. My mother is Swiss, my brother is Swiss." She stated, trying to sound as flat as possible. A swoosh of wind flew past them, in the backyard of Elizabeta's house. The grass was prickling her foot, her blonde cap of hair tickling her cheeks, as twilight came upon them._

 _"Your mother may be Swiss, your brother may be Swiss; but I know I fell in love with the girl who was from Liechtenstein." She said, trying to close up the distance between them. But as she did so, Lili abruptly took a step back to remain the distance. The words that flown out of her mouth only reminded Lili how wrong their love were; how sinful, yet so rewarding..._

 _"No, you're wrong. I don't have the pure blood of Liechtenstein." Her voice was low, but low enough for Elizabeta to hear. "I'm part Swiss."_

 _And that was how she mercilessly tore away from her secret true love; venturing into danger, venturing into darkness, and venturing into her life as a spy.  
_

* * *

 _To be continued..._

* * *

 __ _A/N: Again, apologies for such capsule sized chapter, I'm endeavouring to elongate further chapters. Thank you for following the development of this story._


	4. Chapter 3

Alfred stood in the middle of the field, admiring the skies and buildings surrounding the empty land. In actual fact, this wasn't a genuine football field, it was just an empty land without an owner. Some said it was rumoured to be jinxed with the haunted spirits of the hospital, some just didn't want to ruin the fun of children who enjoyed playing there.

Even after that first awkward day at Francis', they still had bakery appointments, and Alfred soon became friends with Francis, even though they knew the backgrounds of each other by heart. The appointments weren't long but were memorable, and it was as if Arthur was knowing Alfred all over again. Even after Arthur called Alfred a child, Arthur personally felt that Alfred has matured up, unlike the whiny him from before he vanished.

His eyes were locked onto the clouds, the sky slightly dyed with an antiqued shade of tangerine. His mind wandering off to the night in the hotel room with Matthew and Francis.

* * *

 _"Long time no see, my brother." His voice was polite, his smile wasn't plastic - he meant it. His wavy hair, just like Alfred's biological mother's, well groomed charisma only the Williams could afford. He truly was, the 'better' version of this downtown street boy._

 _"Williams. What do you want?" He barked, balling his fists and his eyes grew from amused to stern. He never wanted to see this man. Never. He never thought that his brother would actually work as an agent; he never thought he would see his brother at all after what he has done._

 _"Easy, now. Agent, I'm sure your past with Agent Williams isn't as smooth. But now you're colleagues, so please don't be so hard on him." Francis cooed from behind, walking over to pat Alfred on the shoulder._

 _"I would rather work for the FBI than work with this imbecile." His words were tense and firm, no sign of mercy, only anger._

 _"Look, Brother, I wasn't the one who exposed you as a homosexual!" He cried, trying to reason with Alfred. Alfred had every right to be mad at him, he had every right to feel betrayed._

 _"Oh yeah? You were the only one there. I told you because I trusted you." He spat, his jaw feeling the urge to burst out and punch him._

 _It was at that night back five years ago, Arthur told Alfred that he was going to study law in Harvard like his father planned. Even if Alfred was younger, he was academically capable of skipping two grades, hence him being in the same class as Arthur all these years. He couldn't afford the fees in Harvard, even a silly scholarship wouldn't help in the long run. That was why... Just to be able to see Arthur at the same level... He requested a loan... From his brother, Matthew Williams._

 _He called him down to New York to discuss about the loan in the run-down budget motel; away from Amelia, away from Arthur. While discussing, he revealed that the true reason he needed this loan so much was because he wanted to see Arthur and be in the same election courses with him, to be in every moment of Arthur's life. That was the first time he exposed his sexuality, and the only time he ever will. Because the next morning, CIA agents came knocking the front door of Alfred and Amelia's townhouse, and he was told that if he didn't work 'for the country', he would be arrested for some silly reason. Plus, he would have a really high pay if he devoted his life to the intelligence._

 _"It wasn't me, Alfred. Father, he... He suspected me seeing you when I mentioned coming to the States. I've never left Canada before, and suddenly leaving for a quick trip aroused his suspicion." He explain, as he felt a tinge of happiness glow in him when he saw Alfred's eyes soften. "He put an eavesdropping device in my pouch and I didn't notice it. I'm really sorry, Alfred, it was my fault for being careless and not checking my pouch."_

 _"You... You didn't mean to harm me? I thought..." He trailed off, feeling guilty for accusing Matthew for ruining his life all this while._

 _"No, I would never do that to you! You're my brother, remember? Brothers help each other. And this is to repay you, too."_

 _"Repay me? For what?" He quizzed, trying to think of what Matthew could've done that needed repaying._

 _"Well, because of me, you had to live all on your own in New York - "_

 _Alfred cut him off when he said 'all on your own', "No, Matthew. I had my nanny, Amelia. And I had Arthur. That's family for me."_

 _Matthew couldn't help but feel his emotions burst at the look of Alfred smiling and saying that he found his family. He felt relieved, ashamed, foolish, guilty all at once. He couldn't help but feel so weak and vulnerable. Here Alfred was, growing up in a horrible learning environment, being caught and dragged away because of who he loved, yet he could stay so optimistic. What was this strong force that kept him happy all this while? Was it Arthur?_

 _A sudden impulse in Matthew made him march up to Alfred and gave him a tight bear hug, like he always wanted to. Ever since young, he was told having a rebellious brother in New York who changed his surname just because he felt that he wasn't even related to the Williams anymore. He was told about this notorious older brother he had, who would rather live as a rag boy than accept money from the Williams. He had always wanted to hug that brother everyone hated. He had always wanted to show affection to that brother everyone hated. "I'm sorry... I shouldn't have existed..."_

 _Alfred felt his sleeve dampen, just like what he felt when Arthur cried on it. It was the same; silent but powerful. "No, Matthew. It was because of you that I had the chance to befriend Arthur. If it wasn't for you, I would never even know of this hidden gem in New York. I don't know about how it's like living in Canada, but I'm pretty darn happy living here."_

 _"I'm so happy for you two, but you weren't summoned here for a family reunion, Agent." Francis interrupted, taking a photograph out of his suit pocket and flinging it onto the coffee table. "This woman - Natalia Arlovskaya. She's coming for you."_

 _Alfred picked the blurred black and white photograph of her, inspecting it. She obviously wasn't paying attention in this picture, and it was most likely zoomed. Her platinum blonde hair and an icy glare, her little bow she has on her head, a dark coloured coat she had on, surely not any ordinary woman. "Only one assassin? I can shake her off my tail."_

 _"She's not just 'one assassin', she's the elite agent of the KGB. Her ability is probably the power of 10 regular CIA agents combined. Of course, we know you're different. But she's not just some Tom, Dick or Harry. She's dangerous." Matthew warned, taking a folder out from his jacket pocket and spreading the contents on the table. "We don't have much information about her, but we know one thing: she's somehow related to the Ant."_

 _"Braginski? How?" He asked picking a random document and scanning it._

 _"She's his long lost foster sister. This is one of the most important information we have on her. The rest are unclear, our leads on her location and technique is dangerously vague. We know nothing of her. And now, she's after you." Matthew resumed, looking for a specific document among the the sprawled papers before handing it to Alfred. "Here, the report on the 'Phantom'. She had stolen hundreds of documents, but this is the only one that we actually caught footage of her."_

 _Alfred eyed the document, squinting to make out the blurred out figure in the photograph attached to it. The report said that it was an early morning incident, and she has already sprinkled sedation chemicals in the staff's food the previous night. It was till that extent she was willing to perform to achieve her goal. Alfred was only slightly above average, and only had a few years of experience. Handling a professional was going to be tough. "I can't handle her, are there any direct orders from above?"_

 _"All the board wants is for you to leave as fast as possible. And they want you to be traceless. So, the only place for you to hide is the most dangerous place an American could be." Francis said, slumping down on the couch. "The Soviet Union."_

 _"Wow, either they have a lot of insane ideas or they really want to get rid of me." He teased, then turning serious. "When do I leave?"_

 _"Next week, if you're able to pluck yourself out of New York without Arlovskaya finding you." Matthew said, keeping the documents back into the file. "And if you manage to convince Arthur that you're going to an art conference or something like that."_

 _"Lying to Arthur? That's gonna be tough. I almost blew my cover of it wasn't for Francis." Alfred sighed, slumping down next to Francis. "I really can't stay longer?"_

 _"The longer you stay, the higher chance you get killed." Matthew halted his movement to see the desperation in Alfred's eyes. "Well... If you really need to... Francis and I could help give false information until you have enough time to evaporate yourself from America."_

 _"Really? You really could slow her down?" He asked, immediately getting into an upright position and leaning forward like a grateful puppy. "For how long can you do it for?"_

 _"Don't get your hopes high, but my limit is one month for a top agent like her." Matthew said, still trying to fit all the documents into the file. "If that's okay for you?"_

 _"Oh, that's more than enough! I owe you two, Francis and Matthew!" He cheered, getting up to shake both their hands._

 _"I will continue working in the bakery and passing you notes. And Matthew will be working as a store worker of a bookshop you normally go to. He will call you about promotions, and let's just hope you get the code, okay?" Francis smiled, getting up as well._

 _"Thank you again, y'all. But... I don't think I'll be able to tell him now, because he'll keep on pestering me about my reasons. I'll leave it till the last minute before I go. So don't blow my cover, okay Francis?"_

 _"Oh, you procrastinator." He teased, slapping Alfred's back as they had some great wine and a great laugh._

* * *

The same black Mercedes rolled in, with Alfred hearing the screeching and turning around, slowly and expectantly. Arthur got off the car to meet Alfred who was wearing a bomber jacket and bitter smile. A sparse sight of Alfred, really. Or was it Arthur that missed out on his mental formation phase?

"You're late, Mr Kirkland." He said, unmoving. He shoved his hands in his pockets and watched Arthur stomping over with a scowl.

"I'm not late! A gentleman is never late! You're just plain early." He grumbled, halting and folding his arms and he was finally in front of Alfred. "And why did you call at the last minute?"

"I didn't call at the last minute, it was just you who didn't pick up the phone." He shrugged, sitting down in the grass. "Since when did we stop coming here?"

Arthur followed in suit, but not a single word escaped his lips. Of course Alfred knew the reason. After Arthur's mother passed away, he didn't want to be reminded of the hospital. After Arthur's mother passed away, he didn't want to ever go near the hospital. So, why? Why did Alfred need to ask?

"Why didn't you let them out that day?" Alfred asked again, only looking at the sky. "Your tears; why didn't you let them out?"

"I... I didn't feel the need to." He lied, shrugging. Alfred had no idea how much he wept when he was alone in that dark, dark house. Alfred had no idea how hurt he felt when none of the other family members shed a single tear for her.

"So, you're saying that you don't feel the need to show your true self?" He inquired, finally making eye contact with Arthur.

"Everybody needs a mask that they will never take off. And I was wearing that mask when she went." He said, trying to intimidate Alfred. But all Alfred could hear was a feeble excuse, all he could hear was the inner self of Arthur whimper in pain.

"Then, why didn't you wear that mask when I visited you the first time I found out about your father's ways?"

"I haven't acquired the skills to find it yet." His retaliation was short, but enough to doge the bullet in such a quick notice. After all, this was what his job was all about - being agile and swift.

"How did you acquire this mask in the end?" He asked, scooting forward on the prickly grass.

"... It was a gift." He replied under his breath. "It was a gift from my father."

"No, you shouldn't have anything given from him on you." Alfred protested, placing a warm hand on his pale face. "Take it off, and never wear it again."

He didn't comment on Alfred's affectionate gesture, but only continued the conversation. "Life's a masquerade; the mask I wear is what I'll wear until it ends."

"Then..." He trailed off, leaning in close to Arthur's ear. "The masquerade is over."

As if on cue, music started echoing from behind. " _Make me rainbows... Make me spring in the snow.._."

"Oh, I love this song!" Alfred chimed, grabbing Arthur's hand and pulling him up.

"You bloody git, what are you up to now?" He yelled, as Alfred yanked him into an embrace and started rocking from side to side.

"Don't speak, just dance." He cooed, staring into those orbs so lovingly... So very lovingly...

" _Let me unwind, leave behind... Rhyme and reason..._ " The sweet voice of Nancy Wilson was faintly ringing in the distance.

"How the heck is there music in the first place?" He questioned, looking around for the source of the music.

"The hospital's celebrating some sort of anniversary or something, it's nice to see the patients so happy." He smiled, supporting his jaw on Arthur's head, allowing Arthur to fit perfectly in the nook of his neck like a puzzle piece. Being so close to Alfred, the tip of his nose brushing against Alfred's neck, teasing and grazing the skin.

Only the faint recorded voice of Nancy Wilson filtered between them, until Alfred spoke again. "I'm leaving in 24 hours."

Arthur's eyes went as wide as saucers and he pulled himself away to have a clearer view of Alfred. The sun had set ages ago, making it hard to make Alfred's face out. But somehow it was illuminated by the pale moonlight, the bitter smile growing more and more sorrowful. "Please... Don't be joking..."

"Sadly, I can't stay around to joke anymore..." He sighed, trying to maintain the forced smile on his face. "I have to go..."

"You... You're wearing a mask yourself..." He muttered, burying his face into Alfred's jacket, breath shaking. "I knew something was up. You weren't an artist, were you?"

"I guess I couldn't lie to old Artie..." He sighed bitterly, closing his eyes and savouring the sensation of Arthur in his arms.

"Then... Where were you? All this while, where were you? Where was the hero I knew when I needed him most?" His voice was cracking, his tone elevating and he fought a sob back. He couldn't take his mind of the one time he was bullied... Bullied until he was raped... It was that one night in university when a pack of them came and invaded his nether territories... Scarring the most sacred part of him... But when he called for Alfred's rescue, he only realised that Alfred had already vanished.

"I don't know what happened this past five years. I won't know what'll happen in the next fifty years. But all I know that is now, that I'm embracing the one I love. And I'll hold him until the night ends, and I'll return when the masquerade is over."

"The one you love..?"

"You, are the one I love. For so long I've stayed strong, is to be able to see you again. And now, I'll make sure I make it through this Cold War just to take off this mask for both you and I."

"Life's really a masquerade..."

"And I shall dance you through this night, my dear."

If only Alfred could come back, there was no way of contacting him. No one will ever know whether he's alive or dead after he enters the Communist world. It would take a miracle for Alfred to appear right in his face one day, with the same old goofy grin. Even if Arthur didn't know exactly what Alfred's real job was about, even if Arthur didn't know where he has actually been these five years, even if Arthur didn't know where he was going or any way to navigate him, he knew it was best for him to stay silent and savour the moment.

Alfred didn't exactly hear Arthur accept his love, but he already felt like it was a miracle for him to finally let him acknowledge the truth.

" _Make me some rainbows... Star Spangled rainbows... Make me some rainbows, for me... For me... For me..._ "

As the music faded out, Arthur found himself drenched in tears. In felt good to finally let them out; all his emotions, all his pain.

"At least I'll see you tomorrow again, right? I'll only leave at sunset." Alfred whispered, still holding Arthur in his arms.

"Yes... That would be delightful." He tried speaking normally, but his voice was drained and broken. His breath still unsteady, his clutched onto Alfred like his life depended on it.

"But I want you to do something for me when we reach there: bring Lili along."

* * *

As they reached the bakery, the server behind the counter wasn't Francis, but someone with a bright smile and a pair of lovely eyes.

"Ah, Francis told me about you. Mr Kirkland, Alfred and... I'm assuming you're Mrs Kirkland?"

"S-Soon to be." She stuttered, suddenly at a loss of words.

"Francis had told me about someone working on behalf of him today. What do I address you?" Arthur asked, as the server eyed Lili and back at Arthur.

"Elizabeta is fine."

* * *

 _To be continued..._

* * *

 _A/N: Status: Desperately trying lengthen the chapters. Thank you for understanding._


	5. Chapter 4

A/N: I just realised I have not updated in over a year, and how atrocious my style of writing was. I had no idea how to control POV, and my language was too flamboyant when simplicity was key. This chapter was particularly challenging for me, as I hadn't planned my plot properly and a lot needed to be explained. To be honest, I have already forgotten what I meant for the ending to be, but I'm trying. Thank you for understanding.

* * *

"Elizabeta is fine."

Lili could only stand rooted to the ground, completely mortified by the gorgeous waitress standing before her. She looked completely different from a few months ago, when Lili left for the USA. Her hair was well permed, lashes obviously coated in a generous amount of mascara, not to mention the feminine heels framing her foot with a provocative arch. Elizabeta had a Mona Lisa smile gently lined across her cheeks, with only a subtle curve for a dimple. She was completely different. She had a fragrant perfume that swirled around her like a liquid force field, and a complete air of elegance.

The tense atmosphere was resolved by Elizabeta's melodious voice saying, "Allow me to show you to your seats." As Elizabeta extended her hand and started walking, the two men took long strides and completely overtook her, plopping down to their wooden chairs before Elizabeta even had the chance to bring them to the table she had in mind. "Francis has designed a menu just for you. And even something special for the lady, but it's in the kitchen. If you may, ma'am?"

Lili merely nodded and followed her to the kitchen and vanished from their sight.

"I wonder what Francis has in store for us!" Alfred began, inspecting the room, as if he were trying to absorb every single detail into his eyes.

"Did you plan this, Alfred?" Arthur inquired. Perhaps Alfred was trying to make his last day in New York special.

"I - uh - I just got accepted for another painting job. All the way in Berlin. Pretty cool, huh? Being a freelance artist, I mean. I didn't think I'd get accepted, honestly. But those artsy guys seem to think pretty highly of me," Alfred started babbling, "But yeah, sorry for last night's emotional... emotional little conversation. I really meant to break the news cheerfully. After all, it's a job promotion, right?"

Arthur nodded with an arched eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. He couldn't handle all the emotions swirling within him. First, the job so near the USSR, then the self anger bubbling within at the fact that he let himself melt into Alfred's arms so easily without questioning what the 24 hours and the emotional farewell was about, following up with the half-assed 'love confession' that was probably platonic, and continuing with the doubts of his feelings for Lili after the return of Alfred, and finally the fact that Alfred was babbling. Now, Alfred was a smooth talker; a charmer. He always had his way with words and never seemed to trip over them, even in pressurising situations. His way with words was his secret weapon and he only babbled on two occasions. One, he needed the loo; two, he was lying. Arthur didn't know if he wished it was the first or the latter. As Alfred mentioned the previous night, Arthur realised that he didn't question any of Alfred's words. What with the 24 hours, what with 'the one he loved'. Somewhere along the way, Arthur figured that Alfred has landed himself in a risky job, but the way Alfred talked about the remaining 24 hours was far too much for him to handle. It was the age of the space race, and no one knew when a bomb would be landed right in their faces. They started having safety drills in their office, and his crazy neighbour enjoyed spending his days yelling about 'those darn Commies'. Arthur really wished he knew what Alfred was doing, but he wasn't that dull not to know that it was related to serious government issues. He took this brief silence to process everything Alfred has said. Berlin. It was so near danger. Arthur was afraid, and he wasn't even the one that was going.

"Arthur? Hello? You okay there?"

Arthur snapped out of his trance and asked, "It's just a painting job, right? Why make such a big deal of it? You're coming back in, what, a fortnight or two?"

"Yea so here's the thing. A couple months back when I was still in France - Chamonix to be exact - I applied to work with Deep Silver. They're like some art auctioneers who hire people to paint for them full time. Right now they're touring around Europe, and I have to move with them for, well, as long as they want me. I don't underestimate myself, so I'm giving it a good decade or two? I don't know, I got the news a week ago, and I decided to say goodbye to my old pal before taking off for good."

"So what you said last night was just a huge bluff, eh?" Arthur wanted to slap himself for asking such a ridiculous question. Homosexuality? In the United States? In 1963? He must be the world's biggest fool. And of course Alfred didn't return his feelings; he only loved him as a brother! 'Old pal', that's all he ever was. He didn't deserve to melt in Alfred's arms, and worse still, he had a wife! Of all the questions he could've thrown at Alfred, he kicked off with the worst thing he could ever blurt out. For instance, he could've visited Arthur or at least ring him while he was in France. Why wait till a job acceptance to seal the deal?

"What are you talking about, Arthur? I ain't no liar, you can take my word for it."

That did it. He pushed Arthur too much. Arthur hated lies, and Alfred was lying about how he never lied. How ironic. "When was the last time you were ever honest? What should I call you, Super Thief Extraordinaire, Mister Secret Agent, or _Everything Else That Isn't A Goddamn Artist_? Take a pick!" By the time he finished his tirade, his face was steaming red, his whole form livid from Alfred's behaviour, his clenched fists and his furrowed brow; there was no going back from this conversation. Which was good, since he'd probably never see Alfred again for the rest of his life.

Alfred was taken aback, only wearing a blank expression on his face. Arthur tried to read him, but he simply can't. He has never seen this side of Alfred before; this gloomy face and stern gaze, calculating and cold. There he had it. He asked for the real Alfred, and there he saw it. His jaw was suddenly so defined, and his eyes were dark and narrowed. His lips were pressed into a thin line yet he showed no sign of emotion. If not for this situation, Arthur would even consider this face bloody gorgeous. "I can't ever hide from you, can I? I've fooled government officials, mistresses of power, but just not plain old _Arthur_." The way he said Arthur's name made Arthur shudder. How gracefully it rolled off his tongue, how he would stress on the 'r'...

"Finally showing your true colours, eh, Mr Jones? So tell me, is it the CIA, the FBI, or God help me the fucking KGB?" Despite feeling a sharp pang of betrayal, Arthur ironically felt a little proud of himself for sniffing out the lies. Perhaps he was a born lawyer after all. Alfred remained silent, and Arthur tried to level him up with a steely gaze. Everything was distorted. First, everyone freaked about a commie being caught stealing records, then Arthur out of all people was chosen to defend him, then now he has finally faced the music that Alfred was really a spy. Goodness gracious, at least he met Lili along the way. Sweet, sweet, Lili. The more he pondered about the relationship, the more it felt like a sibling kind of love. He once loved Alfred, yes, but he believed if he bonded with Lili long enough, he'd eventually feel the strong infatuation he once harboured for Alfred with her. What bloomed from his investment was more of a great friendship rather than an exciting romance, now that he realised. Even if he did have a divorce with Lili, he hoped they'd still get to meet and have some tea. What was he talking about? Divorce? They weren't even married! Clearly, Alfred's presence was messing with his head. He loved Lili, yes, as a good and responsible husband in charge of producing offspring. Yes, that must be it. The meaning of love. Not some traitorous bastard who probably came back to suck some information out of him. He decided to speak again, "So, you're on the Braginski case, I see? Those intelligences are getting smarter, getting information without a trace; I'm impressed, really. Waiting till you have a drink at the pub so I can spill everything, huh? Speaking of drinks, there's probably something in my tea, _isn't_ there? No wait, _Francis_ is in this too! I _knew_ it! No wonder he decided to do something special! You even asked me to bring my fiancé, for what? So I wouldn't suspect your intentions? I _definitely_ wouldn't spill everything in front of my _lovely_ wife-to-be, that would be ridiculous! You'd lure her away, somehow, yes yes, to the _kitchen_!"

Alfred chose to remain silent. He merely looked at the polished wooden table. "I'm very disappointed in you, Alfred F Jones. I knew I could never trust _anyone_ ," Arthur said with a low voice contrasting with his previous tirade.

"Then do you trust Erika?" Alfred finally responded, locking his eyes with Arthur's. His cerulean blues utterly gorgeous, if Arthur was completely livid.

"Her name is Lili. Get her name right before even trying to talk garbage about her. She has nothing to do with this."

"Then I suggest you get her name right before marrying her. You probably know her as Lili Tutsia. Guess what? She's from the Swiss intelligence and her real name is Erika Vogel! Did you know that, Arthur? Isn't it too much of a coincidence that out of a blue a woman loves you? Just when you've accepted the country's most hated case? What are you blinded by, Arthur? Is it love? Is it lust? Why? Why her?"

"Y... You don't have the right to say that. Just because you're a traitorous bastard doesn't mean everyone is! You arse! You think you can paint Lili guilty with your lies a-a-and..."

Before he could finish, Alfred grabbed a file folder that had the words 'Arthur K.' messily scribbled on the front of his messenger bag, unwound the little white string, took out a few paper clipped papers, and plopped it on the table. Arthur stopped mid-rant, and bent over in curiosity. To his horror, it was the profile of his fiancé, and the name 'Erika Vogel' and the three letters 'FIS' that drew the colour from his face. _FIS. Federal Intelligence Service._ Of the Swiss. He's heard of it, and definitely doesn't want to even try to challenge their abilities. Clipped onto the document were a couple of blurred candid shots, but were still unmistakably her, and a portrait photograph, most likely used for her official documents. She even had her hair braided with a little ribbon tying the look together. Said candid shots even included her practising shooting from long distance, some were even her practising throwing blades... There was even a picture of her and a young man with shoulder length blond hair, who was teaching her how to use a sniper. Arthur was mortified. He couldn't believe his eyes. In the end, no one truly loved him. Everyone wanted something from him, and they'd leave afterwards. All of sudden, in the warm cosy cafe, he felt cold and alone, like he had suddenly walked into a blizzard with only a singlet and a pair of ripped boxers. He felt like a fool to assume that people cared. He wanted to dig up a hole and die peacefully, as wars rage above the soil, he hoped to be able to close his eyes and rest forever.

It was silent for a fair bit, but Alfred decided to break it. "I know I left you. I know I lied. But at least I'm trying my hardest to protect you."

"Oh yeah? From what? Your boss?"

"I don't care what my boss wants; I don't even want to know about shitty Braginski!" Shocked from his own lashing out, Alfred calmed down a tad bit. "They weren't going to send me to fetch information from you. They were planning to send Francis directly, probably he's better with his words and might persuade you to tell him a little bit about Braginski. They were initially planning to let me go. My contract was up."

"T-Then... Why? Why stay with them?"

"Because Vogel is after you. You're in great danger, you know that? She can cut off your tongue in your sleep, even after a good night of sex."

"Then... If I'm in such great danger, why are you leaving?" Arthur couldn't help it. His voice was quivering, a lump rose in his throat. He had to purse his lips to swallow the lump away. Hor embarrassing.

"Because... Because... She's coming for me. Arlovskaya."

"Arlovskaya?"

"Just... Just know that I really care for you. All the things I said last night, about you being my love, please don't forget that. I know, men aren't supposed to love men, but just know that you're more than a brother. Hate me, despise me, call me a fag; just know that everything I've done is for you. You're perfect, Arthur. Don't let Vogel or the Commies make you doubt yourself," Alfred said, with the same bitter smile from the previous night creep back to his face. "I love you, Arthur. Always have, always will."

Arthur was completely silent for a while, unable to comprehend that his 'unrequited love' was actually requited. Unable to comprehend that Alfred took an interested in men as well. Unable to comprehend how okay it was to feel affection - love - for someone of the same gender. Unable to comprehend how Alfred risked his own life once again for his sorry arse, and instead was yelled at by Arthur. Unable to comprehend the pain of loving, and the joy of losing. The joy, of knowing he didn't have to love Lili anymore. The pain, of knowing Lili was a bigger bastard than Alfred. The joy, of knowing Alfred loved and cared for him. The pain, of picturing Alfred's future in Berlin, or heck, the USSR. The joy, of loving a man. The pain, of losing him forever.

"If you love me so much, why did you sign it? To be an agent?"

Alfred could only attempt to muster a charming, carefree smile. "Well, that's the story from when I return, darling." With that, he swiftly collected his documents, stuffed it into his messenger bag, and turned on his heel to leave the shop. Without letting Arthur ask anything else, he left. Arthur remained in his seat, dumbfounded. Only him and his thoughts in the little coffee shop. Tears started rolling down his cheeks like warm marbles on a ground of snow. He tried desperately to wipe it away and inhale away all the snot in his nose. It was ridiculous, the whole ordeal. The conversation was distorted. Arthur didn't get his answers, but new questions to tickle his heart. The day was too much. With all the spies and the Cold War and the curious case of Ivan Braginski. Alfred was dying, and he was the cause. Alfred was so close from regaining freedom, now he has to keep his head low in butt fuck nowhere, when such a brilliant person as Alfred deserved nothing but a spotlight, roses, and a round of applause. Alfred had to leave quickly, or else the person he mentioned would...

"We let Lili have a taste of our new shop speciality; the red velvet cupcake! And for the two gentlemen -" before Elizabeta could finish, she was met with a lone Arthur Kirkland with tear stained eyes. In her hands were a metal tray and behind her was good old Lili. Oh, sweet Lili. How beautiful and pure she was, if not for her ugly intentions that ruined it all, thought Arthur. He could not fathom how easily he fell for her trap, to genuinely think that she actually adored him for his gentlemanliness, or his charisma, or anything at all. Maybe it was because he was so desperate for love, maybe it was because she reminded him of Alfred. Alfred, who was like a breath of fresh air. Alfred, who was bright like the yellow ball in the sky. Alfred, with his heart of gold and his ridiculous hero complex. Alfred, who risked it all, for him.

Arthur stood up abruptly and chose to collect his thoughts somewhere else. Preferably a place that wasn't infested with thieves and traitors, which was ironically the current nest of the country's biggest traitor.

* * *

"How have you been, Arthur?" Ivan asked with a friendly smile. The prison cell was extremely cold; even Arthur's Burberry trench coat couldn't keep him warm. Ivan, on the other hand, looked rather comfortable with nuzzling his face in his scarf. Once again, this dark place, with only a few days of light seeping in from the outside world. But to Arthur, the outside world was just a wider prison.

"I have been well. And you, Ivan?"

Ivan looked at the ceiling as if he was contemplating about it, and locked gazes with Arthur with a tiny smile. "Pretty good."

It was silent for a moment before Arthur spoke again. "How do you know if you truly love someone?"

"Do you even need to know?" He asks, with a little shrug he continues, "I thought you'd just feel it."

Arthur gazes at Ivan's features. He never noticed what a peculiar eye colour he had, a strange mix of blue and purple, creating a beautiful hue of light indigo, or even lavender from some angles. The room seemed darker from before, Arthur could barely make out his features. Ivan had a thin blanket draped over his humongous figure, it almost seemed like he was contorting himself just to get some more warmth. This place was mistreating Ivan, a man whom Arthur believes is innocent. 'McCarthyism' was what they called this. The practice of making accusations of subversion or treason without proper regard for evidence. They could point their fingers at anyone. The young, the old, the hero, or the thief. They captured people randomly out of fear, and even signed their own loved ones up to avoid being captured themselves. Ivan was a victim of this, but what made him special was his original nationality. Arthur really did feel for Ivan, this injustice was too much. Even if he regained freedom, he would be blacklisted.

Ivan spoke again, "Is there someone you have feelings for?"

Arthur flashed a wry smile, his cheeks stretching tightly as he leant back against the cheap plastic chair. "I believe I'm in the same situation as you are; no wife no girlfriend." Arthur couldn't believe he was telling Ivan all this. They were on two different ends of the war, even if Arthur was assigned to defend him. But even with imaginary borders created by treaties and wars, he felt that they were just two young men, lost and in love. Seeking and losing, wild and free. What with the space race and what with the silent bomb threats, Arthur finds himself comfortable talking about his sexuality with a man whose nose is even longer than a thumbtack, and who happened to originate from a communist country. Despite the freezing cell, Arthur found warmth. He found warmth with the knowledge that there were many more men that were just like him, that felt just like him, that saw the world just like him. He wasn't alone, and he wasn't a freak. He loved a man, and the man loved him back. Such a beautiful thing, yet so frowned upon. He wondered, would it have been better if he grew some breasts? "He's a young man, two years younger, and he is going lose his life any minute now."

Ivan seemed amused by that statement. His eyes widened like saucers and he abruptly sat up straight. Arthur wasn't sure if he was surprised that Arthur was gay or the fact that Alfred was dying. After a moment he asked, "Why is he going to die? Is he ill?"

"No, nothing like that. He has a dangerous job." That didn't even cover the tip of the iceberg. He was planning to hide somewhere far far away from the assassin that's after him. With a drained monotone voice, he continues to chant, "He's dying, Ivan... He's dying... Because of me..." The stress of losing Alfred was far too much for him to bare, every minute could be his last. Arthur stared blankly on the metal table, blinking occasionally to simulate life. If only Arthur had confessed five years ago, he wouldn't have wasted so much time on trying to be straight. If he knew Alfred felt the same, he wouldn't have spent so much time beating himself up because of it. He didn't even get the chance to tell Alfred how much he loved him, and he was already gone. He was just a little bit too late.

A single tear drop flowed down his cheek.

* * *

Alfred was extremely upset. He didn't mean to break the news like that. Heck, he didn't mean to break the news at all. And he even did it at Francis' place! In a _nest_ of CIA agents! That was even worse than playing with fire in a pool of gasoline. He was far too careless. Revealing confidential information to Arthur, even if he loved him, was really crossing the line. Then again, Alfred was gonna die anyway, what difference would it make?

The night was frigid, with gusts of glacial wind making little imaginary cuts on Alfred's flawless cheeks. His lips were numb and he could barely feel his fingers, or his nose, or his ten little toes. He was driving a nice car the agency provided, and was driving to the destination to receive further instructions. The pedal felt wonky and he couldn't steer properly, his glasses fogged up because his warm breath contrasted with the cold air. Oh, how he wished a heater was installed in this damned contraption. His teeth were involuntarily chattering lightly and he couldn't blink without wincing. Somewhere along the way, he found himself thinking of Arthur. From the way he scowled to the way he always tried to hide his smile; that summer of '55 they spent in California, their knees touching and their shoulders close, watching the waves in a comfortable silence. He remembered those weekends spent outside Jackie's ice cream parlour, just sitting at the pavement and counting the cars. He remembered those little glimpses he stole, just to admire the graceful presence of Arthur. There was just something about his defined jaw and his petite figure that blew Alfred away, but it was his acquired taste in humour and his undying devotion for nothing but the truth that utterly captured his heart. He really did love Arthur, and launching himself into the land of an American's nightmare seemed to be the best thing he's ever decided on. It was worth it, he realised, to fight for someone you truly loved; he believed that if he fought hard enough, he could make his way back to the States when the mess was over. That was what he told himself so many years back: if he loved hard enough, Arthur might accept him, that Arthur might consider him, that Arthur might love him. A few hours ago he made it clear that he loved Arthur, and he felt that from that second on he could die without regrets. He didn't care if Arthur didn't love him back, he just wanted to love Arthur for Arthur. A part of him was relieved that Arthur didn't spew curses at him for being gay, yet another part of him regretted not waiting for his response. Perhaps Alfred really could hope. Perhaps.

After a while, he finally reached his destination. It was a little abandoned part of Bushwick, with graffiti sprawled across every single object and a strange odour Alfred couldn't distinguish; perhaps it was the holy trinity of urine, alcohol, and a little bit of Mary Jane. Across him was a rusty old phone booth that didn't look very inviting. He glanced at his watch. 11:27 PM. Seemed like the night was still young. Matthew asked him to start dialling at eleven thirty. He parked his car and offed his engine, just to take a deep breath and clear his head. He still had a good two minutes before he had to start moving, a good two minutes before he had to leave his country, his sanctuary, his home, and his Arthur. Surprisingly, time was rocking rather slowly. It was that satisfying feeling where he felt that he could watch Father Time's every single move, where he could feel every single second slip by. It reminded him of the time he watched Arthur nap when they were preparing for their school exams. Arthur was exhausted and was knocked out completely at the stroke of ten o'clock. Alfred watched him, and watched the clock. Time was moving so slowly, and everything was calm and serene. He remembered feeling the warm contentment bloom within, how he longed for Arthur's plump pursed lips... Those five years he was gone, there wasn't a moment he didn't think of Arthur. Arthur seriously underestimated him by assuming he'd forgotten all about him. If only Arthur knew. He glanced at his watch: 11:29 PM. _Time to move_.

He surveyed his surroundings. Once. Twice. And he was off the car and in the booth. His hand trembled as he reached for the telephone. He dialled. It rang once, twice, and, " _Hello, this is Bonnefoy's Books_." If this wasn't to save his life, Alfred would've snorted at the name. "Where do I go," his tone was rushed and low, his clenched his teeth while talking to prevent any lip readers from getting any information.

" _Our only store in New York is at Madison Avenue. Right across the state library, you shall see us._ "

"Thank you."

"The pleasure's ours, sir. Have a good night." Before Alfred had the chance to speak again, the receiver has already hung up. He sighed and slammed the phone down, took a step back to admire the ceiling of the phone booth. Boy, that was the last time he was ever going to see something so American ever again. Before he knew it, he was already humming the tune to the national anthem. What a great time to be patriotic, he thought. As his thoughts started to travel to Arthur once again, he heard a soft knocking on the booth. Startled, he reached into his pocket to feel his gun.

He looked out, and was met with a gun cocked in his face. The phone booth wasn't bulletproof, so staying inside wouldn't do much help, in fact it'd even limit Alfred's chance of fleeing. So he opened the door and slowly walked out of the booth with both his hands in the air, doing exactly what the person wanted.

Despite the importance of his poker face, he decided to spice it up a little by chuckling and saying, "So, I was one move too late, huh?"


End file.
